Comfort in Arms
by ValaMagic
Summary: Margaret wasn't sure when she'd become accustomed to sharing her bed with Hawkeye... HM as if you couldn't guess ; ...


AN: I've been on a bit of a HM high recently so here's another short fic I wrote while trying to figure out how to finish a couple of longer ones i'm working on... Give it a read and tell me what you think... i haven't written like this for a while...

Comfort in Arms

Margaret Houlihan wasn't sure when she'd become accustomed to sharing her bed with Hawkeye, just that she had. He didn't spend every night in her tent, not even most nights, usually he slept in the swamp. However on occasion she'd find herself squished against the wall of her tent his arms trapping her. Some nights he'd follow her home from the officers club, others he'd appear at her door always with a bottle of wine or scotch in hand and they'd fall asleep in her cot together. The worst nights were when he snuck in while she was sleeping and careful not to wake her slid under the covers, they hadn't happened at first and they only ever happened when he didn't want to admit that something was wrong, or she didn't but he knew anyway. He only ever stayed on the bad days, the deaths, the children or friends. Usually they'd talk before hand and usually she could predict in the operating room sometimes earlier when he'd be making a visit, but not always.

It had been over a week since he was last there and she was expecting him, it had been a particularly rough day, a little girl they'd been working on with what she could only describe as fourth degree burns to most of her body along with shell damage. She hadn't made it. Though Margaret told herself nursing a glass of scotch a second one empty awaiting Hawkeye's predictable appearance, it was probably better she didn't survive, it seemed likely they would have had to amputate both of her legs and one of her arms. Margaret pushed the tears back, she and Hawkeye had talked to the poor girl's mother later, who was another patient suffering minor second and third degree burns, talking to her had been the worst part. As she downed the contents of her glass a knock on her door signified Hawkeye's arrival.

She was already wearing her nightclothes and called him in standing up to greet her guest. She wasn't surprised when he threw his arms around her neck and buried his face into her shoulder. She let her arms come around the man although she too needed comfort on this night she allowed him to press himself closer and take comfort in her presence as she did in his. Margaret wrapped her arms around him, not sure if she was comforting him or the other way around when she slid her fingers through his hair. Neither dared speak, for once the memory was too fresh and Margaret couldn't press for a reason, as she knew all to well.

When he finally pulled away, gulping deep breaths of air in an effort to calm himself it was to slide his jacket off his shoulders and lay his pants and boots down before sliding into bed once his partner had flicked the light off. He never made any smart remarks about being in bed with Hotlips as she was affectionately known, their little night time encounters were the only time he didn't cover his own pain with jokes. When she slid onto the cot next to him he pulled her close and she only pressed herself closer when he slid his hands delicately over her soft, supple body, reminding himself that there was still good in the world. When he pressed his lips to hers it was gentle, reassuring to both of them. She wasn't sure when she'd started trusting him not to hurt her, if only in the dead of night, but she had and she could never pull away from the man who held her in his arms. She was however glad when his hands eventually stilled on her back and his lips pulled back smiling sadly at her. She pressed her own hands reassuringly on his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. She liked the quiet nights the best, when they would lay together offering their silent support to each other.

Sometimes they'd take their frustrations out on each other in a frenzied, passion filled way until they collapsed spent against the sheets purplish bruises already forming on their bodies. The roughness 

didn't bother her, nor did the bruises she often sported under her clothes, it was only the lack of closeness that bothered her. She liked the connection they shared on their quiet nights together. The gentle touches, the care they showed toward each other, sometimes she could pretend there was something more to it than two friends giving comfort.

They never promised each other a future, in fact they never verbally promised anything at all, Margaret noted. All they really had was an unspoken agreement to offer comfort to each other, because that she realised is what it was. Hawkeye would come to her door not only when he needed relief, but also when he knew she was upset.

In some ways, she supposed they used each other, but as far as she was concerned that didn't matter, they were there for each other. As a reminder and as a comfort. There was still some good in the world and something worth living for. Only Margaret wasn't sure when Hawkeye became the good or her reason for going on. All she knew was that she was glad he had.


End file.
